Aftermath
by littlespider
Summary: Post "Mayhem on the Cross." Lance Sweets gets some unexpected help when dealing with the aftermath of his talk with Gordon. Warning: mentions of child abuse and implied rape.


I've been reading a lot of these about Booth and Bones, but not so many about Sweets. So here's my tag for "Mayhem on the Cross."

Lance Sweets receives unexpected help in the aftermath of his talk with Gordon.

Disclaimer: Bones is not mine... though I do wish. :)

* * *

Dr. Lance Sweets had not been sleeping well. Not since Gordon had brought up his childhood. And nice as it was for Booth and Brennan to open up to him because of it, the experience hadn't been entirely beneficial. The nightmares had started back up.

He could only hope it wasn't effecting his work. He was tired most of the time, but luckily, he was the kind of person to get crabby. Instead, he withdrew into himself.

His pride as a psychologist kept him from seeking help from someone else, and it wasn't like he really had any friends to talk to. But a part of him wished someone, anyone, would notice he was hurting.

***

Booth and Brennan stepped off the elevator and headed past the secretary to Sweets' office. After learning about their psychiatrist's childhood, they'd changed a lot. Although still resistant to the idea of therapy, both were forced to admit that the young Dr. Sweets was good at his job. Of course, they also found it easier to respect him once they had finished their sessions with him. Booth in particular, had changed his attitude toward the younger man.

"Alright, Sweets! Squint family dinner tonight at the diner, and you're invited. Let's—" Booth's statement died on his lips, and he looked over at his partner, who simply shrugged.

Dr. Lance Sweets was asleep, one arm draped unceremoniously across his face, covering his eyes. His suit jacket had been discarded on his chair while he was stretched out on the couch.

"Maybe we should leave him, Booth," Brennan said. "He looks so peaceful."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. So long, Sweets," Booth said to their unresponsive shrink.

Brennan was following him out the door when a whimper stopped her. Turning around, she saw that Sweets had curled in on himself, his brow furrowed in distress.

"Bones, you coming?"

"Wait a second, Booth."

As the forensic anthropologist watched, the young psychiatrist shifted again, making a movement like he was dodging something. "No, don't!" he moaned, the rate of his breathing increasing.

Booth stuck his head back into the office. "Hey, Bones, what's going on?"

Before she could answer, Sweets gave a loud, tortured cry and his violent twitching increased. "No, pleas, I'm sorry… Arg! I'm so sorry… please…!"

"I think he's having a nightmare," Brennan stated. She looked back at Booth. "What do we do?"

"We wake him up," the agent said matter-of-factly and strode into the room. He gripped the young Dr.'s shoulders and shook him gently. "Hey, Sweets. Lance, wake up, buddy. It's just a dream." He shook him again.

This time, Sweets jolted awake, breathing hard. Booth noticed he looked a little green around the gills. He grabbed he trashcan just in time to catch what little the younger man had eaten as it came back up. By the time Sweets finally reached dry heaves, the younger man had realized his situation, and couldn't imagine how he could embarrass himself further. He tugged his tie loose, hoping to increase his airflow.

"You okay, Sweets?" Booth asked, watching him carefully and looking genuinely concerned.

"I—"

"Don't lie to us, Sweets," Brennan said quietly. She was gazing at the young man, wondering why they hadn't noticed before how pale he'd become, or the dark smudges under his eyes.

"Al-alright, I'm… I'm not fine," Sweets choked out, and, much to his dismay, found tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Hey, hey, you're going to be fine," Booth said, scooting the trashcan away and sitting on the couch next to the young man. "You wanna talk about it?"

Ordinarily, Sweets would've shrugged it off, but today he felt he just needed to let it out. "I keep having the same dream over and over again. They—"

"They?" Brennan questioned, sitting in one of the armchairs.

"My parents. They locked me in the closet. My mom, she'd come home from a few drinks after work and she'd take her heels to my backside. Then my dad would come home and get mad at me for making my mom angry. He'd lay in with his belt. If they were in a good mood, they'd let me out for dinner. But a-after…"

Sweets took a hiccupping breath of air and stopped talking. Booth reached out and gripped his shoulder. "It's alright, Sweets. What happened after dinner?"

But Sweets shook his head, still crying. Booth looked to Brennan for help.

"Dr. Sweets, you once told me that talking about my childhood experiences would free me from the burden of the bad memories. Don't you want to be free, too?" Brennan finished quietly, not really sure what to say.

Closing his eyes for a second, Sweets took a deep breath and continued. Booth didn't remove his hand.

"Af- after dinner we went back to the closet, and they would… oh god!" Sweets sobbed, burying his face in his hands and muffling his voice. "Dad would make me touch him, and mom would watch. Sometimes, he's make me use my mouth…" He took a shuddering breath. "Then, when they'd had enough, she'd hold me down and he'd… he'd…"

At that point, Lance just couldn't continue. He let loose heart wrenching sobs, his body shaking violently from the painful memories. He felt like he could be sick again, but he was more numb than anything. But then, the unthinkable happened.

The tough, ex-sniper, FBI agent Seely Booth reached over and wrapped his arms around his scrawny kid psychiatrist. He held him as he shook, not caring when the tears formed a wet patch on his shoulder. Brennan watched in fascination; despite the tough guy act he put on, Booth was a genuinely caring guy. He was a father through and through.

After what seemed like forever, Sweets managed to stop crying and gradually pulled out of the agent's embrace. His cheeks flushed brightly, he looked embarrassed. "Thanks, Agent Booth."

"Any time, kid," Booth replied sincerely.

"So," Brennan stepped in, "how about dinner?"

Sweets gave a watery smile. "That sounds great."

* * *

Like/dislike? Review!


End file.
